Gettin' Real Tired Of Your Shit, Balthazar
by TheEndsongAbyssXV
Summary: A misunderstanding can either be good or bad. And Balthazar, the troll he is, knows this. But that doesn't stop him from saying something he probably shouldn't have. (Spoilers for S6E17: My Heart Will Go On) [Contains Destiel].


I'm taking prompt requests! PM or leave a review if there's something you want to see! The sky's the limit! (Except Megstiel. I hate that ship.)

~X~X~X~

Getting' real sick of your shit, Balthazar. _(_Spoilers for S6E17: My Heart Will Go On) [Contains Destiel].

_So the Titanic didn't sink, and we've got 50,000 people to save from Fate, all because the crazy bitch's got her panties in a bunch. _Dean frowned, green-eyes narrowing as he contemplated their current predicament.

"Can't you un-sink the ship?" Sam asked.

Dean glared at the angel. "Not being born is different than getting killed!"

Sam watched as Balthazar leaned against the wall, taking a sip of the Laguvalin he poured himself, and gave that annoying, _I-want-to-curb-stomp-you_ smirk of his before speaking to Dean in his cheery, albeit sardonic accent, "I'm sorry, you must have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench-coat who's in love with you." He drained the glass. "_I _don't care. Goodbye, boys." With the whisper of wings, he vanished.

Dean's eye flared, "Whoa. Whoa, wait, wait, wait!" he snarled, "_Son of a bitch!_"

Sam gave his trademark frown, the one that made him look cute instead of sad, "We can figure out how to reverse this, just because Balthazar doesn't want to-"

"Doesn't matter," the older Winchester bit out. "I've got something to do, you go call Bobby and talk to him about Ellen and Jo, he needs to know what'll happen."

Sam rose an eyebrow, "Where're you going?"

Dean snatched up his keys and walked towards the door without looking back, "I'm gonna call Cas."

~X~X~X~

He drove for twenty or so minutes, just mulling things over. Ellen and Jo dying again if this issue was fixed, Balthazar being an A+ dickbag, and Fate being the snarky bitch that she was. Then there was Castiel. He hadn't been keeping an eye on Balthazar, and the bastard had reversed the sinking of Titanic because he hated Billy Zane and James Cameron.

But what bothered him the most was what the English angel had said about Castiel: _"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench-coat who's in love with you_._"_

In love with you. _In. Love. With. You._

Dean twitched. What the fuck did _that_ mean?

_Oh, c'mon Dean, you know exactly what it means. _He was nervous, horrified, and a bit…excited? Dean was all about the ladies, but if there was one person he'd switch teams for, it was Cas. There was something about the angel; his naïveté, his inability to understand things. The fact that he was just a baby in a trench coat when he was powerless. The trench coat. The jacked up trench coat he wore no matter what; those fathomless blue eyes, bright as a star and bluer than the Caribbean.

Without warning, a shiver of lust went through the man and he frowned, swerved to the side of the road just outside the town, and parked his car. He scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning in frustration; both mental and sexual. He didn't know what the hell he wanted anymore. Didn't know how to feel about things. And not just Cas, but everything. The impending war, Raphael's bitchy, tyrant self, Sam's mental wall and all the horrors that lay behind it. Lisa and Ben.

He just didn't know anymore.

With a curse he stepped outside into the fresh air, dragging the heady scents of nature into his lungs before sighing and closing his eyes. His temples throbbed, and his brain was just a jumble of thoughts jumping from one extreme to another. The war, Kate Winslet's breasts, that skank-monster Fate-

"Dean."

Said man's eyes snapped open and he looked over to his right, where Castiel stood, unblinking and still. His coat shifted with the wind, and Dean was trapped by the angel's gaze, totally captivated and at a loss for words.

"Dean, what Balthazar said about Titanic, I didn't know about it. Not at first, anyway." Dean shivered, was it possible to be aroused by someone's voice? That seductive, gravelly tone went from Castiel's mouth straight to Dean's cock.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas was frowning, and Dean glanced at him because suddenly Cas was _there,_ right next to him, totally ignoring the laws of personal space. "You look like you're in pain."

_Only if you count a raging boner with no outlet painful, yeah._

"Nah, I'm fine." Dean cleared his throat and straightened. "So what is your crazy-ass brother up to now?"

Castiel shook his head, "He wants to harvest the 50,000 souls for our army." Dean blanched and Castiel frowned, "He didn't tell you?"

"The only thing he told me was that he didn't care because I must be confusing him with the angel in a dirty trench-coat who's in love with me; the dickbag."

Castiel went stock still for a second, and tried to cover it up, "Always the joker that one."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "See, I don't think he was joking though."

Castiel looked at Dean, "He truly does not care about the people Dean."

Dean scoffed, "That's not what I meant." He didn't want to know, at least half of him was in denial about his own feelings. Dean Winchester, the lady-killer. Able to make a pair of panties drop faster than a brick through water just with a simple smile or glare. But right now, no busty blond or curvy brunette invaded his thoughts, not Sam, not Lisa or Ben, just the scruffy, blue-eyed angel in front of him.

"I know." Cas's voice was small, a whisper. He looked almost afraid, and Dean had the sudden impulse to grab the angel by his tie and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. The forlorn expression on Castiel's face was almost comical, because he rarely, if at all, looked so solemn. He had two expressions: blank, and bewilderment. Now there was sad. _Ooh, four_, Dean noted as Cas's eyebrows knit together in a look of utmost annoyance, the way Sam's did whenever he stepped in dog crap.

"Then tell me." Dean leaned back against the Impala, arms crossed, waiting for the angel to speak. But he had to know. Had to hear it from Cas's mouth. "_Is_ Balthazar really a joker? Because I thought that was Gabriel's job."

"Dean-"

"Was. It. True." He didn't mean to sound harsh, but this was important; life-changing. Hell, the fucking Fate of the world depended on whatever came out of Cas's mouth.

The angel replied without hesitation this time, "Yes."

Dean's eyes snapped up to meet the unflinching blue gaze, and he felt everything unravel. His heart, his mind, hell, his very soul instantly tuned into that single word, and he spoke before he could stop himself; didn't care that he made himself sound like a washed-out soap opera star. All he knew was that one second he was leaning against his baby, and the next he had tangled his hands into the thick, soft spikes that covered Castiel's head as he pulled him close and fused their mouths together. The angel went stock-still for a nanosecond before relaxing, allowing Dean to lead, take control of the kiss.

At first.

Abruptly they were back against the car, Dean groaning, whether from pleasure of surprise, Cas didn't know. All he knew was that he was kissing his hunter, and that Dean was kissing back. Nothing mattered in that moment. Not Raphael, not the war, not the Titanic, and certainly not Balthazar.

For those few precious moments in time, all that mattered was that they were both alive, and together.

(Sequel, maybe? Let me know.)


End file.
